


Agent Of The Fallen

by Susannagwendoline



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:45:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susannagwendoline/pseuds/Susannagwendoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimberly Carter is an enhanced S.H.I.E.L.D agent who is assigned to the Avengers after her rescue from a HYDRA base, having been captured and tortured for information for three weeks. She is reunited with Pietro and Wanda, and her childhood friend, Shona, who Kimberly finds out is marrying the playboy Tony Stark. Kimberly befriends the rest of the team with ease, sometimes clashing with Tony over their differences. Overall, it is fun. Kimberly feels like she belongs. <br/>But, things change.<br/>Steve and Tony's friendship falls apart and the team begins to break under the pressure. To make matters worse for Kim and her new-found family, Pietro vanishes. Now, Kimberly is alone and confused, trying to work through the emotions she feels and does not understand. Struggling with her strained relationship with violent Carl, she must make a choice. Join her best friend, Shona and Natasha on Tony's side, or Wanda and Clint on Steve's. <br/>Kimberly dies neither.<br/>She goes looking for answers into Pietro's disappearance and her grandmother's past.<br/>And uncovers shocking secrets about who her grandmother really was. And the disturbing link between S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is is based on Civil War.  
> Now, I know the film isn't out yet, but I really am excited for it.   
> It doesn't follow the film's plot, but it does involve Bucky showing up and key quotes.   
> So, yeah, hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimberly is out still, and Fury decides almost instantly decided to assign her to the Avengers as she has qualities. She is a nice person, but hard on the field fighting. Tony seems to disagree until Fury reveals that she is not all that she seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday for those who actually read my crap.  
> I was tired. And it was my day off from college (prison) and I just needed some sleep haha.  
> Welp, this shows a cuter side to Fury, as he isn't as harsh. Still is a badass, but a nicer badass if that makes sense.  
> It is in third pov (point of view) as I wanted to put it that way, because it shows a weaker side of Kimberly.  
> That is all.  
> I hope you enjoy it.

3rd POV (Point Of View):

Minutes turned into hours. Hours into days. Days into just over two weeks. And yet, Kimberly Carter had not moved a muscle. At all. She was lucky; Coulson knew that as he sat outside the room she was in, chin in hands, staring at the bleached white walls. Everyone knew how lucky Kimberly was to be alive. The bullet that HYDRA shot her with clipped her liver. But, it was still damaged. And hitting the liver can cause major problems. The first hour on board the Quinjet had been gut wrenching for Coulson and Fury. Kim had flat-lined. 

Twice. 

Considering that Fury was like a second father to the girl, he let his emotions get the better of him. Meaning, everyone could see the terror in his dark eye. It was a bit of a shock to Coulson. But, more so for the others on board. Who happened to be the Avengers. They helped Fury get in and out of the dirty old compound. It seemed Wanda knew her well. When Coulson came on board, she took a double take of the limp girl in his arms, her long dank hair, the brown dull. The wound. As soon as Kim was ready, she sat as close as she possibly could without getting in the way of the medical team and Bruce. Shona sobbed for a least half of the journey, wrecked by the injury Kim had sustained, the cuts on her face. She rested her head on her husband-to-be's shoulder, explaining how she knew her to the crew, no matter how broken she sounded as she did so.

Now, Shona and Wanda spend some time with Kim, and Coulson sits outside, thinking about her. trying not to be so depressive about it. Kimberly is strong-willed. She never gives up easily. Always fights to the point she can't do it any more. A coma isn't going to stop Kimberly. Coulson just wants to here her crack a joke, so he can laugh with her. She always had a good sense of humour. Even when she was in a bad situation, the jokes and the mocking sarcasm were always there. He wants to have her dancing on the tables again, laughing, completely gone, bottle of her favourite drink in her hand. Even though she is a damn fine S.H.I.E.LD agent, she does have fun. And is a little bit of a party animal. Her and Tony Stark would get on just fine. He smiles softly to himself, returning his gaze to the white-washed walls of the room, when the door down the hall opens. Phil snaps his head up and he sees Fury coming down, black trench coat blowing back by the speed he walks, his face showing nothing but determination. Phil stands up, straightening his jacket. Fury walks over to him and Phil gives him a reassuring smile. Fury relaxes he rough, tense posture and tilts his head to look at Shona and Wanda.

"How is she?" He asks, voice quieter than usual. Coulson looks up at his boss, his friend and nods. Fury raises his eye, an eyebrow going with it.

"She's better." Phil says, clearing his throat. Fury nods, relaxing completely. He goes to the door and taps on it. Shona and Wanda get up, muttering to a prone Kim and come out, one after the other, stopping to greet Director Fury. The door opens again and the other Avengers come in. Tony wears a suit, and he removes his tinted sunglasses as he enters, shoving them in his top pocket. Steve follows close behind, as does the others. The is a whoosh of blue and grey mist, Pietro appearing right in front of Wanda, his muscular arms going around her shoulders. She hugs him back, with a soft sigh, smiling gently. Pietro sneaks a glance through the glass and holds his sister tighter, obviously distressed. Well, if Wanda knew her, so did Pietro. The twins barely do anything without one or the other there. But, Coulson wouldn't know. Wanda has barely spoken to anyone but Pietro and Shona. They are closer now that they have talked about their friend, and they share stories while in the room, smiling and laughing quietly. Fury turns to the Avengers, hands behind his back, clasped, his famous look on his face. The one he wears when he is trying to appear fine, his scary face. Coulson stands nearby, to comfort his friend silently. Fury glances at him and nods. Coulson nods back. Fury then returns his stern gaze to the group.

"Agent Carter will be joining you after she recovers." He says plainly. A look of pain crosses Steve's face at the name, and Coulson winces a little. Peggy is no longer around, but Kimberly is her grandchild. He thinks. Steve clears his throat a little, running a hand through his blonde hair casually, hiding his question in his eyes. He doesn't want to ask. Coulson guesses he'll ask Kim when she wakes up. Tony splutters, giving Fury a look of annoyance. Fury looks back, clearly not changing his mind.

"What?" Tony asks, sounding pissy. Great. The billionaire is having a tantrum over a girl. Shona glares at him, slapping his arm.He jumps a little, rubbing the spot her palm collided. Steve swallows, and Coulson looks at him. He seems okay now, but Phil will check later. He has a habit of hiding what he feels. Steve crosses his arms in a considering fashion, directing his blue eyes to Fury, who seems to be having a staring contest with Stark. Fury catches sight of Steve looking his way and turns his bald head towards the super solider.

"What does she have to offer?" He asks. Tony makes a bitter sound, gaining another slap from Shona. Her eyes are watery and red. Coulson smiles reassuringly at her, and shoots a dirty look towards Stark. He needs to learn that other people are close to the injured agent, and not put himself first all of the time. Coulson knew he risked his life flying into the portal to close it. But, ever since then he has returned to his selfish ways. Coulson isn't stupid; he knows something about the battle of New York affected him in a bad way, and he hasn't told anyone about it. He should, but this is Tony Stark; he is too full of pride. 

"She is the best agent I have," He says, and Coulson lets a nice look appear on his face. He knows what Kimberly means to Fury; what she means to every important person at S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha nods, and Clint. They must have heard about her before her capture. Coulson was proud of her in a way; she never breathed a word no matter what. She never gave any secrets up. He has to praise her for her breath-taking emotional strength. And physical. Fury looks to the group again, the mismatched team of heroes. The solider from the wrong era. The assassin who has issues with emotions. The archer who is misunderstood. The billionaire to big for his boots. The pretty agent who manages to keep him grounded. The scientist who needs anger management. The God who has no clue about Earth. They don't get along very well, but they are a team. And they are a good team. 

"Also," Fury adds, gaining the attention of the Avengers. "She is enhanced." Wanda coughs, swallowing her water sharply. She pats her chest, surprised by Fury's statement. Phil knew she was enhanced. Kimberly was stationed with him and his team before the incident that caused her to develop insane levels of speed, control of the element of fire. She can also see auras and detect people's next moves. She is a little like Wanda too; she can read minds when she is focused enough and prevent bad dreams. By the look on Shona's face, she is not amused. Shona is also enhanced and can create shields, has higher than average speed and strength, but that is all Coulson knows. He hasn't really spent time with her to know enough. But, she grew up with it. Kimberly did not.

"Well," Tony says, sliding an arm around his woman's waist, drawing her to his side. She blushes hotly, embarrassed at his affection in front of her boss. Fury looks like he wants to openly facepalm. Coulson pictures what that would look like in his head, and snorts. He covers it up with a cough. Tony rolls his bright brown eyes, rubbing his beard casually, in thought.

"Well," He repeats, thinking hard about something. "That's a surprise." Fury chuckles, turning to the clear glass. He watches Kimberly, glancing at the heart monitor, which shows a steady beat. He turns back to them.

"She is in, and there is no doubt about it." Steve and Natasha nod, agreeing with Tony. Phil sighs. Finally, something that makes sense coming out of his mouth. Fury nods in approval. He looks to Clint and Tasha. They stand at attention, to obviously receive orders. Fury smiles gently, and they relax. 

"I want you, Barton, to stay here in case she wakes up." He orders. Clint nods. "If she wakes up, she'll want to move around fast. Keep her in bed. Talk to her. She is the most understanding person I have ever had the chance of meeting with. Trustworthy. Strong." He labels off qualities she has. Clint's eyes light up at the sound of her personality. Then, Fury walks away, coat streaming out behind him. Coulson always knew Nick was a badass, but damn, he is much more than that.


	2. Prologue

My head spins as I spit the iron in my mouth out onto the dusty grey concrete. A red blob lands at my feet and I feel slightly sick with the taste of copper. I flick my greasy hair out of my eyes, revealing my bruised face to the camera sat on a black tripod in the corner of the room. Everything hurts. My wrists sting, the coarse brown rope rubbing the skin away. The chair I am tied to digs into the back of my legs. I'm pretty sure my ass has gone numb. Is that even possible? I grin up at the masked HYDRA agent who paces the room, back and forth like a grandfather clock swings left and right. He wears all black, baggy black pants, tight black shirt, showing off his muscles. Combat boots that have scuffed toes. His hair is styled and gleams in the dim lighting. The mask covers half his face, like a balaclava and reveals a pair of cold brown eyes. I think it is amusing that this idiot is trying to intimidate me. Nothing frightens me. Especially not HYDRA. I tear my gaze from this darkly attractive man and look at the grimy white wall that has dark brown stains on, and dirt. I swallow, wondering what the stains could be. He stops in front of me, blocking my view of the wall, forcing me to look up at him. He chuckles, the deep sound echoing around the small room. 

"Such strong resolve for a girl," He declares, breaking the silence that had fell. I don't like it when it is just silent. It irritates the crap out of me. He chuckles again menacingly, and I tighten my fingers, which ache dully. "But, that's expected from you S.H.I.E.L.D agents." I hear the undertone of spite and disgust. He'll get nothing from me. No matter what he uses against me. I look to the camera in the corner of the room, and see that is recording. Everything is being recorded. Probably being streamed to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ as I say it. I grin at the HYDRA, unbothered. My dry bottom lip splits, blood being drawn. 

"Fuck yeah," Is all I say. The HYDRA snaps. He gives me a heavy slap across the face that makes my head spin and cheek burn. I feel blood run down my chin. The connection vibrates around the room. That was hard. Like, damn. He loses his patience. I see it in his emotionless eyes as he turns away from me and walks to the tray stood on the old oak table. He waves his thick fingers over it, and I try to see what torture devices he has on it. He stops and picks up the biggest needle I have ever seen. I swallow nervously, shifting uncomfortably on the chair. This is not good. At all. Needles aren't good for me. Barely blinking, I feel the needle go in the side of my neck, the liquid seeping into my skin. It was clear, maybe tinged with blue. When he pulls the needle out of my skin, it is totally empty. The sharp pain I had felt turns to a throb. Breathing heavily, I spit on the floor again. The HYDRA grunts in disgust. 

"Sadistic fucker." I snarl, unclenching my fists. My head starts to spin, the room starts to shift around me. I drop my head back, trying to clear my head. I let out a small moan, unable to keep it back from the ears of the camera. I'm just too tired to any more. I can't do it any more. Nope. I keep trying to see straight and not wild circles that make me well aware of the small amount of food in my stomach. What did he just shoot me up with? I think about it deeply while he grins, as if waiting for me to say something he wants to hear. The stuff makes me feel dizzy. It makes me sweat more than I did before the pain and probing started. It makes me want to talk... About everything S.H.I.E.L.D. Everything private. Ah, I think, biting my lower lip gently. Truth serum. They really think that shit is gonna work on me? Do they know I am enhanced? Oh, my God...What complete and total idiots. 

"Well," He says coldly. "I want to know everything about Level 7." I shoot my gaze up at him, eyes wide. I try to hold back all of my senses, screaming at me to talk, to tell him everything. I need more time. I sense Coulson's presence is getting closer. He is maybe... Fifteen minutes away. Good. It gives me time to annoy this HYDRA. Level 7 isn't even my clearance. I am Level 6. Level 6. So, of course I am not going to know anything about Level bloody 7. I do, more than I should, but he doesn't know that. Being close with Director Nick Fury can have it's benefits. I continue looking at the HYDRA, a smirk forming on my lips. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask plainly. He slaps me again, my nose cracking under the pressure. My cheek tingles, adrenaline replacing the blood. My eyes fill with tears, which are forced from my nose breaking. I blink them away. Ouch. Blood trickles down my top lip. The HYDRA starts to get angry, and I hold back a laugh. My plan worked quicker than I thought it would. He walks around the chair I am strapped to in a menacing fashion, like Jaws circling its prey. I hum the Jaws tune, only to receive a kick the knee. It shuts me up sharpish. Okay. I take a deep, calming breath. I'm all over this. He puts his hands on my knees and I twitch, unable to smack him off. I am not up to this. I would rather not have his hands on any part of me, thank you very much. His face is inches away from mine. I swallow, extremely nervous about this situation. But, hey, at least I'm stalling enough for Coulson to get me the fuck out of here. 

"Tell me." He whispers, breath brushing my face, smelling of mint. His voice is low and heavy. I lower my gaze, having an idea. 

"Alright already." I snap. He laughs, removing his hands from me slowly. I take another few deep breaths.

"Talk." He says, his tone sharper than a blade. In a flash, he whips out a gun and points it in my face. I raise my eyebrows, unable to control my shocked expression. Well, this is nice. "Talk." He spits it at me, like the word tastes bad in his mouth. I inhale the smell of the nozzle, and know it has been fired recently. Very recently. 

"Someone pointing a fucking gun in my face won't make me talk." I say firmly, sweat running down my back. He looks me straight in the eye, seeing that he cannot break my resolve. It won't break. I know this shit like the back of my hand. Talking is not an option in my book. He grabs my hair in a tight grip, snapping my head back so hard I swear I have whiplash. He presses the nozzle of his weapon under my jaw. It hurts, and I know it will leave a mark. I breathe a little quicker, unable to struggle, unable to fight back. For once in my life, I am scared. I try to struggle free, wrists rubbing against the ropes, legs moving. It doesn't work, but I knew that already. "Get the fuck off me." Fury will not be impressed with all of this foul language coming from my mouth, but it's what I do when I get angry or want to make a point heard. And, anyway, it's not like I care. I have some creepy HYDRA in my face, in some creepy place, and truth serum going through me. He starts to rain hits down on me, gun gone. Pain comes from all sides and my vision starts going black at the edges. I let my head rest on the back of the chair. I barely have the strength to hold it back up. I just let it rest there. Stare at the light. 

"Tell me about Level 7, Carter." He growls. I grunt my response, unable to find the ability to care about his stupid questions. He goes back around me, lifting my head up, forcing me to look at him. I spit bloody saliva at him. He gags loudly, letting me go and reeling away from me. He wipes my spit from his face and shudders. "Jesus." He mutters blinking a few times. I grin. Not one for spitting, but I got him in the eye. That doesn't really happen much, does it? I don't know. He comes forward, gun out and I curse, trying to avoid his shot. 

I don't.

He pulls the trigger and pain ruptures through my abdomen, and I see the pure hatred, rage in his eyes. So much for emotionless. I convulse backwards, arching my spine, blood blossoming across my shirt, very visible. A dull, empty moan escapes my lips. My vision starts to blue. The HYDRA's temper dies. He tuts, as if him shooting me was my fault and pistol whips me before stalking to the door. My head rolls forward, head aching from the connection of the gun. Everything fades a little. Colour. Not that there was much to see. Sound. Feeling. I see the scarlet. It pools on the front of my shirt, running down. Sweat beads on my forehead, as I try to block out the pain. This is it, I guess. My stall failed. Well, at least I didn't say a word. That is good enough for me. Before I close my eyes and try and breathe, the door flies open, off it's hinges with a bang. It hits the wall with a heavy thud. A blurry figure walks in. He comes over, unties my wrists, slashes through the ropes on my ankles. I slide off the chair, into a heap. Whoever it is gathers me up into his arms, lifting me gently, bridal style. I blink a few times, unsteady. Fury presses a cloth to my stomach. Ah. Wait, what? Why is he here? Doesn't he have S.H.E.I.L.D to run? HYDRA to kill? 

"Sir?" I whisper, a wave of indescribable pain going through me as Fury starts to move. He tightens his arms around me, glancing down with the one eye that works. His eye patch moves to, which freaks me out a little. I try to sleep again, but he shakes me softly, making me snap back to reality and glare. 

"Don't even think about it." He says sternly, but I hear the worry. "Coulson! Take Carter to the jet now!" My heart leaps. Yes! I can see Coulson. I am jostled into another person's arms.I focus just enough to see him. His blue eyes are full of relief, but fear. 

"Hold on, Kim." He mutters. I pass out before he starts his next sentence.


	3. Chapter Two:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimberly comes to and meets Avenger Clint Barton.  
> The doctor makes her choke on her water with a revelation about her wound.  
> Clint and Kimberly seem to get along, laughing with each other over her reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got bored, so I updated.   
> This is in Kimberly's POV now, because I can write her she is easier to write for when she is, y'know, awake.  
> This was an idea I had at college earlier, and it seemed pretty funny.  
> If you don't laugh, fine, but I would so react like this.   
> Sorry it is dialogue heavy, I didn't know how to describe it.   
> I hope you enjoy it anyway.

My abdomen throbs painfully, and I curse softly, throat dry and croaky. Never give up without a fight, they said. I guess I didn't, considering I'm something called alive. I lie awake, eyes closed, thinking about what I could do with this second chance at life. My mother always used to say 'life is short. Live it.'. And, as always, my mother was right. Well, in a way. Because I didn't die. I'll have to thank Director Fury and Agent Coulson when I see them. It is them who saved my ass after all. I slide my hand under my pillow and feel the cool handle of my gun. Ah, good. Fury knows where I like it. I feel safer. Hey, yeah, I get it, I'm in S.H.I.E.L.D medical bay, but I like my gun under my pillow, so shut the fuck up. Okay? Good. I sit up and grunt, pain shrieking across my stomach, where I got shot. That wasn't supposed to hurt so much. It was only a bullet. No big deal. Unless it hit something important... Nah, I still don't care. 

"You are supposed to be resting," A male voice I do not recognize says, his voice smooth and gentle. Frightened, I open my eyes and whip my gun out, pointing it directly at the person. Heart beating hard against my ribs, I take in the man stood near the door frame, looking a little surprised at my speed and the gun directed between his eyes. I see he is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and lower my weapon, sighing in relief.

"Sorry," I say quietly, placing the gun on the clean white sheet next to me, brushing a strand of brown hair behind my ear. "You just scared me." He nods and smiles. I look at him properly. He has short brown hair, and tanned skin, with bright eyes that shine with him when he smiles. He wears a tight black short sleeved shirt, the muscles on his arms. He turns to be properly, and his name hits me in the face like a bullet train.

Clint Barton. I just pointed a gun at Hawkeye. Holy shit. I facepalm and he laughs, a musical sound and I feel my own lips curl up in response. I don't really know Agent Barton that well; I've seen him around S.H.I.E.L.D and in Fury's office, and I know he is the awesome archer on the Avengers. That is pretty much it. 

"I guess Fury told you to watch over me." I say casually, returning my gaze to the smoking hot Avenger. Hey. I'm single. I can look at the guys. Shut your trap, people. I am allowed. He chuckles and nods. Damn, he is hot. Jesus, I have barely known him five minutes and I like him. I am such a sucker. It'll never work out, even if we did get together. I have issues with men. Most of them just want to get in my pants and the others are just complete dickbags. Seriously. And, the guys I do like don't like me. Why? Because I have a nasty ass scar on my cheek, which curls to my chin. I was in a fight with a guy who wielded some type of sword and my team mate couldn't take him down. When the ninja dude when to take my co-worker out, I jumped in the way and took him down with a kick to the nuts. Yes, I couldn't do anything more with a sword inches away from my face. Get over it. He swiped at me anyway, and hey presto, I have a scar. It damages my self-esteem. I can't see what is passed that scar any more. Which, is pretty sad when you think about it. Not liking where my thoughts are going. Clint sits next to me, on the other side of the gun. He rubs his hands on his pants and I raise an eyebrow. What is up with this guy? I sense his unease. Oh. I hope he isn't afraid of me. That would kinda suck eggs. Especially when I find him so attractive. We catch gazes again and both look away. My cheeks heat up. This is...Awkward. More than I was expecting it would be, if I am honest. Clint clears his throat.

"So..." He says in an awkward fashion, trying to think of something to say while he babysits me. Honestly, I think Fury is losing the plot. I don't need a babysitter. I'm not two. I am twenty three. Like, Jesus Christ. No fair. "Why'd you join S.H.I.E.L.D?" Good question. I don't know. Okay, I'm lying, I do, but I don't want to tell him. My mother was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and she died doing her job. My dad? Don't get me started on that piece of work. He left me and my mother because I was different. Yes, different. Just because I could shoot flame and shit from my hands. And read minds if I pay enough attention. Yeah. He just walked away because I wasn't 'normal'. After my mom died when I was sixteen, the close family friend of Nick Fury took me under his wing, taught me the ropes. And, S.H.I.E.L.D is pretty good. Well, if you don't mind getting shot at and blown up, it is. I shrug, picking at the blanket.

"My mom was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent," I say carefully, like I don't want to. Oh, come on. This is Clint Barton. It's not as if he is a HYDRA in disguise. I relax my walls a little. I glance at him and we lock eyes. There is something still in him and it makes me calm down. It makes me trust him. More thsn I should, but I trust him. "She died when I was sixteen. Fury took me in, and I wanted to carry on in her footsteps, y'know? Carry on her memory." Clint bobs his head, in agreement. He snaps his fingers and I jump a little.

"Oh!" He says, as if remembering something. He stands and goes over to the table, pouring a glass of water for me. He comes back over and offers it to me. My throat aches, and I realize I had completely forgotten I needed a drink. I take the glass, feeling the brush of his fingers against mine. My cheeks go a dusty pink and I smile.

"Thanks." He returns a warm smile and sits back next to me. The door opens and a man in a lab coat comes in, holding a file. I groan inwardly. Doctor. Here to check my vitals. I'm perfectly fine. Jeez. Clint stands and goes near the door as I take a swig of my water. The doctor flicks through my medical report and looks at me, green eyes darkened with tiredness. Poor guy. He must have been working all night for three days with a look like that on his face. 

"Miss Carter," He addresses me, I wipe my mouth and put my glass on my knee, holding it with hand. "You are very lucky to be alive." I roll my eyes and try not to make a sarcastic comment. No shit. Idiot. He takes my glass and smells it. I raise an eyebrow confused. Why did he just smell my water? What drugs is this guy on? He gives it back to me and I take another drink, swallowing it. The cold liquid goes down my throat. He flicks back through the file, frowning. "The bullet caused some damage, but other than that, you are healthy." Yes, I get it. I roll my eyes again, trying to keep my mouth shut. Jesus... This is harder than I thought.

"Okay, I get it," I sigh, lifting my glass to my face to take another mouthful. "Spit it out." He gives me a dirty look and I just shake my head without a care in the world. He sasses me and I will give it back. I could send him to the burns unit with my comebacks. No kidding. He sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes.

"Under no circumstances, you must not drink alcohol." I choke on my water, spitting it out all over the floor. Coughing, I rub my chest. What? No fair! Alcohol is what I live on. Not all the time, just when I want to. This means no vodka, no whiskey. Why the fuck not? I cough harder, Clint patting my back when he returns to my side.

"What the fuck did you just say?" I splutter, sucking in a breath. The doctor looks at me sternly, unamused by my reaction to the statement.

"The bullet clipped your liver and damaged it in a place. You cannot drink until it is healed." I groan and put my glass down on the floor. 

"How long for?" I ask again, hoping for a good answer. It better be good. Oh, please, for the love of all that is holy, be something I can last for. This is fucked up, dude. 

"Eight week at the most." I let my jaw drop. The doctor leaves. I face palm, groaning. Eight fucking weeks before I can drink again? Well, there goes my summer. I like my alcohol. Clint just chuckles at my reaction and I force a sarcastic laugh, but then it comes naturally. 

"You make me smile, Kim." He says softly, laughing harder as he looks at the puddle of water and spit on the floor. I need to clean that shit up. I laugh with him, leaning on his shoulder, hand on my stomach. Maybe this eight weeks won't be to bad if he is with me for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimberly struggles to confront her emotions after being rescued from HYDRA.  
> She has no one to talk to in that moment and has no idea how to deal with them not that she is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a little while, but trust me, I have been so busy.  
> But, I've left college now because I'm tired of getting picked on and forced to do work.  
> So, yeah, that happened.  
> I have all the time in the world to write now until my uncle leaves to go home.  
> He's staying with me and my mother.   
> Help me XD  
> So, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm sorry if it is a little short.

Finally, allowed to move around properly. Not to spar or do any 'sporting activities', as the doctor stated. I hate doctors and the medical wing, bay, whatever it is freaking called. The dude, Doctor Gareth Smith took his sweet time earlier to tell me I could move around. Waited long enough. Two weeks I have been stuck in this shitty white room, listening to music, Clint's small talk. He wasn't very talkative actually, now that I think about it. It was usually me starting it. My friends Wanda and Shona visited. It has been a long time since I have seen both of them. Pietro followed. As did my new team, the Avengers. Which is pretty awesome. I am now an Avenger. Fury did good. He thinks I'm good enough to be an Avenger. That is some high praise, especially coming from him. But, why? I was happy with my other job. Coulson and his team trained me well. I guess this is what they were training me for. Everybody knows how much of a fangirl Coulson can be when it comes to Captain America. And when I say that, I mean it. I change quickly in my S.H.I.E.L.D catsuit, the badge on the sleeve catching the artificial lighting as I slide my slender arm through the hole. I twist around and look in the mirror, a plain floor length one. A small smirk pastes itself on my lips. At least they know what I need. A mirror to see what I am doing. Thank God for small miracles, I suppose. I focus on my reflection. I see a young woman with smallish cuts on her forehead, bruises starting to change from purple to brown. Her pale skin is... Still bloody pale. I look terrible. My uniform is torn in places, dirty, caked in grime. My eyes lower and I hold my breath when I see a path of dried blood. The small hole where the bullet entered my catsuit. Lodged itself in my skin. Clipped my liver. Ruined my summer. I stare at it in horror, all traces of humour draining from my mind. This is not what I should be wearing. Is this a mistake? Or a test? I don't know why my catsuit is here. It should have been replaced. Has there been a mix up? I sigh. I back up, sitting on the bed when the sheets and mattress bump my legs. My eyes never leave my reflection. I'm not strong anymore. I'm damaged by all the fighting. All the loss. Just damaged by life in general. My old, happy, care free self has been replaced by this... Cold hearted bitch who only cares about her job. Doesn't live life anymore. Just a simple S.H.I.E.L.D agent, a solider. Retirement is needed. So badly...

Hold on a second. That wasn't meant to come out like that. I put my head in my hands, feeling my hair slide between the gaps in my fingers. I exhale. I need to open my eyes and see what is going on. See what I am missing. Sighing again, I realize I have one last chance to right my wrongs. I'm not going to retire from the job I have known nearly all of my life because of a stupid catsuit setting off the memories. I'm not going to retire from the job I love because I'm tired of the repetition. Not going to happen. Tears prick my eyes thinking about how all of this started. My mother never said it would be this hard. 

I called her the day she died. Left her a voice mail, because I thought she was just working overtime, or on a mission. So she could listen to my typical 'I love you'. The typical go through of my day, just to let her know what I had done. She told me she liked it when I did that. So, I continued to. It was just the message I always left her, with the three little words I meant with every piece of my heart. My sixteen year old self thought my mother would return. Until Fury showed up and told me different. I straighten my back and let myself drop backwards onto the soft mattress of the bed, stomach giving a sharp pain as I do so. I try not to fall apart as I stare at the white washed ceiling. I wish Clint was here to talk to. Anybody. But, Clint... He seems to understand me more. I see the pain in his eyes, the pain I am used to seeing. Buried deep. Hidden away. I shove my thoughts away in an attempt to regather my composure. Clearly, it fails. 

"Mom, where are you now?" I whisper, vision blurring with the tears I am desperately trying to hold back. She was gone far too soon. They both were. My dad wasn't as close to me as my mother. I spent time with them both, my mother and dad, but my mother was there for me more often. Why, I don't know. This life started too soon. Who would I be if they both hadn't kicked the bucket in that plane crash? What would she look like now? What would my dad look like? All these damn questions. Ugh. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. I'm losing my mind over this. More tears form and fall. Dammit.

These HYDRA bastards need to pay for everything. Everything they have done to me, to my family, to my friends. To S.H.I.E.L.D overall. I'll fight them until the very end. Tears roll down the corner of my eye, down towards my temple. I feel a sinking feeling in my chest. I think about who I used to be. How happy times used to be. How happy I used to be. Right now, I am weak.

_Weak, weak, weak, nothing, weak._.

Not liking where my dark thoughts are leading, I scramble to my feet, my stomach aching with protest as I do so. I go to the other side of the room, open the white drawer and search with my eyes, as quick as possible. What I was trained to do. It is only for my... Phone! I see my iPhone at the back, lying there. My black earphones are wrapped around it neatly. I smirk softly. Grab it. I click the home button and my screen lights up with the Avengers logo. Oh, Fury... He is such a joker. I roll my eyes. I'm kidding, by the way. He is as cold as ice. But, nice... When he wants to be. A song I used to love as a teen blasts out, ringing around my skull. I sing along loudly, not caring who hears me. I sit on the cold floor near the drawer, back against the rough wall. My knees drawn up against my chest, and my stitches throb. I cast my eyes down to the black catsuit. My voice will obviously sound clogged, my throat still has a lump in it and I still want to cry. My music sustains me. It blocks out, drowns out, any dark thoughts that spring to my head. I am so absorbed with my music and too focused on singing the lyrics, shutting my emotions down that I don't hear the door open quietly and a person walk in. That is, until it is too late to wipe my eyes, flatten my ruffled hair, shut my face and make myself look presentable. This is why I hate weakness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton assists Kimberly to her new place in Stark Tower. He realizes what Kimberly is like, and notices things about her that usually go unnoticed. He doesn't know what to do about the thoughts. Clint supports her when he sees how broken she actually is. Thoughts drift to how close they could be, as he realizes that they are the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in third POV, because I think it fits better for this chapter.  
> It is just Clint's thoughts on Kimberly.  
> It was an idea I had last night, but I was too tired to do anything about it.  
> So, I have now.  
> I hope you enjoy it.

_Third POV (Point Of View)_.

Clint partially listens to Fury drone on about that agent he looked after for two weeks. Kimberly Carter. Clint knows what she is like. He likes her, in a way. She is strong willed, stubborn and well versed in her duties. He can see why and how Fury likes her more than anyone else. But, there is something else Fury is hiding about Kimberly. What, Barton doesn't know. But, he hopes to find out. His thoughts move back to Kimberly. The scarred cheek. He thinks it is awesome, makes her look like a badass. She kept trying to hide it. Kimberly must still feel insecure about it. Barton glances at the clock, watching it tick for a few seconds. Nearly one pm. Nearly time to pick Kimberly up and take her to Stark Tower. He hopes she'll be okay. It is a bit... Bright. It can be a little hard to take in at first. He hopes she'll just shrug it off. Fury snaps his fingers and Clint turns his attention to the Director.

"Are you listening, Agent Barton?" He asks, voice in that normal tone that scares newbie agents. He glowers at Clint, and Clint swears to God, Fury can see into his soul. He isn't scared of Fury, but that look just creeps him out a tiny bit. Clint nods. Fury keeps looking at him, fro a fraction of a second too long. He then continues on about Kimberly. How to keep her safe, and keep her still. In a way. She may be allowed to move around, but Agent Carter cannot do any sports. Sparring. Whatever she does. Clint wouldn't know. He didn't really talk to Kim in the two weeks he watched over her, like he was told. He feels bad about it. He could've learned so much about her, but nope. His nerves got the better of him and he kept his mouth firmly shut. She was too pretty. Her humour was enough to make him laugh. Her smile was enough to make his heart do a flip. Her steady aim was enough to almost make him wet himself. He has dealt with it before, with Natasha. He has tried to wake Natasha and ended up with a gun pointed inches away from his nose. It has scared him a few times, but he got used to it. With Kim, the look in her eyes, the fear, but the dawning realization. She looked so sorry. But, at least they laughed together. She almost beats Stark with her sarcastic comebacks, her witty responses. Clint could clearly pick up the fact that she hates doctors from her snarky, sassy comments. He had to hide a smirk behind his hand every time she made one. He is a mature S.H.I.E.L.D agent, for Christ's sake. He couldn't laugh at the poor doctor who was on the receiving end. But, it was hard not to. She may seem soft and bouncy, but she is more savage than a wolf. Like _damn_. 

. Clint hears the door click and he looks up to see Fury gone. He widens his eyes. Shit... He glances at the clock. One minute left before he has to go collect Kim. His leg starts to bounce nervously. He likes Kim. She is like him. She hides things to protect herself. He can see her former self behind her eyes. Her mannerisms. He can see the loss she hides behind her teal eyes. The things she will never talk about. To him or to anyone. Some things deserve to be kept secret, though. Clint sighs, grabs his jacket and throws it over his shoulder, walking to the door. He opens it, the cold handle against his palm as he pulls it open, leaving to meet Kim in the medical bay. He takes a deep breath and sets off, nodding at any agent he passes as he goes.

_Let's do this._.

***

"Agent Barton," A male voice calls from behind him. Clint presses his lips together tightly, until they pale. This is the third time someone has stopped him in the hall. He is so close to getting Kim. He turns and drops his irritated expression when he sees who it is. It is Doctor Gareth Smith. His glasses are askew a little, his blonde hair untidy. He has huge ass bags under his eyes, and Clint feels sorry for him. He twists round fully, so that his body faces the skinny doctor. Gareth swallows, fiddling with his papers. Clint feels there is a problem. 

"Yes?" Clint says in his normal tone, polite and formal. The doctor meets his eyes. Gareth purses his pale lips, thinking. Clint rests his head on the pale wall, antiseptic filling his nostrils. _I haven't got time for this._ , Clint thinks. 

Gareth gestures, walking past Clint, his clean lab coat flying out behind him as he speeds off. Clint arches an eyebrow, shoving off the wall and jogging after the man, who moves surprisingly fast. Well, that is expected. He rushes around quite a lot. He has lives to save. 

"Agent Carter seems to be distressed," Gareth finally says, sounding stressed out about everything. Clint nods, listening, feeling an urge to run down the corridor, burst in and see what the hell is wrong with her. She seemed fine this morning, before she started getting ready. What could've changed? He thinks about the mental damage she may have sustained while she was held captive. Physically nearly killed her, yes, but mental takes longer to heal. He knows. Stark still has nightmares and anxiety attacks about New York, and that was a few years ago now. Tony doesn't think the others now, but they do. He feels Stark's pain. He has a few nightmares. From his childhood. And other things that he would rather not like to think about now. "Good luck," He says in a low voice. Clint rolls his eyes. "Make sure she doesn't drink." Clint nods, and Gareth walks away, disappearing from view quickly. Clint feels sorry for Kimberly, even though he doesn't know what is wrong with her. He guesses he'll find out. Clint closes his hand around the cool silver handle and opens the door quietly. The sound of singing hits him hard, and he widens his eyes, shocked. He didn't know Kimberly could sing so well. That is a nice surprise. But, he recognizes the clogged sound. She is upset. She has being crying. Clint feels his heart pinch and he steps further in, pushing the door closed softly, so that it doesn't disturb her. He sees what she is wearing, and he lets his jaw drop. Who the fuck left that out for her? It's the catsuit she got shot in. No wonder she is 'distressed'. He goes over slowly and Kim's green eyes shoot up, showing shock. They are red and puffy, fresh tear tracks trailing down her pale cheeks. She looks up and sees Clint stood. Her voice dies in her throat and she looks ashamed to be caught in this state. Clint doesn't mind. All he cares about at the moment is finding out what was wrong with her in the first place. He gets down on one knee, offers her his hand. She hesitates, but slides her slim hand into his strong one. Electricity shoots up his arm, and he wonders what it means. Some sort of connection... Meh. He'll work it out. Talk it over with Natasha. He pulls her up and her earphones fall out, landing on the front of her catsuit. He sits her down on the bed, and goes to the drawers, looking through them. He finds the clean catsuit and throws it at her. Kim catches it, her hand moving in a blur. She didn't even look. He smiles at her speed. Wasn't that one of her powers? Clint couldn't remember. It has been two weeks. Kimberly has recovered well, and quickly. She disappears and Clint widens his eyes looking around. He blinks and she is sat on the bed, in the clean catsuit, her brown hair tousled. The dirty one is scrunched up in her hands. She looks at it, forlorn. Clint slides onto the bed next to her, and he side hugs her. 

"What's wrong?" He asks lightly, wanting to help the saddened Carter. A beautiful girl like her should not be so upset. Kimberly sniffles and sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. Clint stiffens a little, but relaxes, soothing her. 

"I've just been thinking..." She says gently, her voice cracked and hoarse from the singing and crying. Clint tightens his grip, catching sight of Fury stood outside the door, watching. Clint doesn't know why he is here. Maybe to see her off. Maybe just to observe how he deals with her. He probably got wind of Kimberly being distressed and came to check. Clint pretends he hasn't seen Fury and goes on with what he was doing.

"You wanna talk about it?" He questions. Clint doesn't want her to be depressed about her thoughts. Whatever they may be, he can help her. She is just as broken as Natasha. Natasha has a wall. Clint broke it down enough to help her. He isn't going to give up with Kim. He is going to do exactly the same thing he did with Natasha. Be there when needed. Offer a hand. Never leave until asked to.

 

"Just thinking about how all of this started." She responds. Well, that's a start. "My mom and dad were S.H.I.E.L.D. They died when I was sixteen, and Fury looked over me." That makes a whole lot more sense. That is why he was so anxious on the jet, when she was rushed in to surgery. Why he was calmer, not as strict with the Avengers. He was too focused on making sure the girl who is now like a daughter to him was safe and alive. Clint runs a hand across her hair, humming gently. She goes stiff, but as he did, relaxes. Kimberly wipes her eyes and fiddles with the jumpsuit, pulling at it. Clint sees the hole, the dried blood, and he pries it from her fingers, tossing it in the trash. He returns his hand to her hair, calming her down. Clint has never really done this. He isn't a fan of comforting people. But, this feels right for him. He likes Kimberly. In a way that she cannot know. Two weeks and he thinks he likes her. He wants to be closer with her, friends. Partners on the field.

"There is something else," He says softly, smelling apples. Must be her hair. He likes it. Kimberly fiddles with her fingers. Now, Clint knows there is something else. She is fidgeting.

"I... I just remembered everything." She says, voice breaking. "That stupid bastard catsuit brought everything I've been running from back." Clint nods, listening. Poor Carter. He doesn't pity her. He just understands. It hurts him too. He feels her pain. Kimberly is falling apart, and she is hiding it behind this big ass wall because she wants to be protected. But, why is the wall coming down? Clint is just an Avenger. He is nothing special. He just wants to make sure Kimberly is safe, and content. Clint hugs her fully now, drawing her to his chest. He makes sure he keeps his heart rate down, but he can feel hers pound hard against his own. She sobs into his shoulder and he fiddles with the ends of her hair, feeling its softness as he does so. He wonders what to do. 

"Hey, hey now," He mutters, rubbing circles on her catsuit, comforting her. "It's alright now. I've got you." Kimberly pulls back, smiles brightly, and he sees the light he first saw in her drowsy teal eyes come back. That helped her. She pulls her sleeve over her hand and wipes the tears off Clint's jacket shoulder. He smiles softly, cheeks heating up. He looks back to Kimberly, who is full blown scarlet, looking at her knees in a shy fashion. Clint stands, and offers his arm. Kimberly raises an eyebrow. Clint grins. He can't stop looking at her pretty eyes. They show everything she is feeling. "You ready to go to Stark's Tower?" He asks, in an attempt to take her mind off all that is bothering her. Kimberly returns his grin. He sees the scar stretch when she does so. He doesn't care. She is beautiful, no matter what people say. She takes his offered arm, and he feels his heart leap. he opens the door, and lets her out first. Kimberly giggles, the sound pleasing to hear after her mini break down. Fury, Clint notices, has gone. He wonders where. Kimberly takes Clint's arm again and he leads her towards the jet awaiting them. Clint wants to see more of Kimberly's smile. She doesn't have to keep bending until she breaks. She has people to help her out now. She can be happy. Kimberly pats his hand and that spark crosses his skin again. He looks down at her, and she chuckles.

"Thank you for your help," She says quietly, smiling. Clint nods his head, feeling a smile of his own form. He doesn't know why. Her smile is just so infectious. 

"You're welcome, Kimberly." He says. They continue walking in a pleasant silence. Yeah. He really needs to talk to Natasha about what this weird feeling is. He hasn't felt it in such a long time...


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimberly decides to stay in New York when Tony invites her to his newly rebuilt summer house in Malibu. She declines because she wants to look around her old city. She and Clint become closer, through a screen as the Skype call.   
> Kimberly finds herself in a dangerous situation, she has to use her abilities to fend for herself, and hold off the attacker until they arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again.   
> Yes, this is the chapter where Kimberly kicks HYDRA ass.   
> I'm sorry if it sucks, fight scenes disagree with me.   
> So, I hope you enjoy it, either way.

I watch the others packing their bags and I roll my eyes. Its been three whole days here, and the team have to go to a party in Malibu, at Tony's stupid summer house. Natasha gives me sad smile leaning against the wall, as if she expects me to rush around after them, packing my own bag. Not going to happen. I'm less likely to drink when I'm on my own. With Tony, he'll find a way to give me in. Wanted or not. And, I really cannot be bothered to go back to get my liver looked out. I only have a two weeks or so left. There really isn't any point. In drinking, anyway. I've been doing great so far, every time I want one, going to chat with Clint and practice my archery. Which is coming on well. He said it not me, so don't think I'm gloating. Because I'm not...

"It'll be fun," Natasha whines for the first time in front of me. For an assassin, she whines. I don't want to go, it is final. New York is my home, and I haven't been able to see it in a while. Work got in the way of life, and the so did HYDRA. I'd like to just wander around again. I may have been born in Sovokia and lived there for a few years, but New York is where I grew up. 

"No," I say, making sure there is a finality to my tone. Natasha flicks a lock of her shiny ginger hair out of her face. "I haven't been home in a while, and I want to look around." She has a look of understanding on her face and she gives me a wave before turning on her heel and walking off to finish whatever she was doing before she came. Cleaning up her packing, most likely. Natasha may be a icy assassin, but she can be a bit of a girl. When she wants. That isn't often from what I gathered. She likes her work. As do I. I feel we're going to be a good team on and off the field. Her skills are near my level. She is a nice person as well, loyal and caring. On the field, she is ruthless, but protective. Its nice to see a change. I look out over the city, back turned. Someone comes in, and I listen to the footsteps. Familiar. I turn around again, tired of being interrupted. Can I not look at the city I have missed in peace? Jesus Christ. Those feelings vanish when I see who it is.

"Hey, Kim." Clint says, looking down. I frown, not happy that my friend is looking so damn down. He is usually quite upbeat, but something is different. From posture to the sour expression on his face. I fold my arms and walk over. Carefully. Clint's eyes meet mine. 

"What's up?" I ask, not even saying hello back. I'd rather know what is wrong with my close friend than say a stupid greeting. He chuckles, running a hand through his short hair. 

"I'm just a little down that I can't see you in a bikini." He jokes, and I tut and punch him in the arm. I feel a blush. I started liking Clint more than a friend when he looked over me, when he made me feel better. When he held me as I cried. He'd never feel the same, but oh well. I laugh with Clint and then an overwhelming urge to hug him comes over me. I do and he is tense at first, but he relaxes and hugs me back, arms around my waist. He rests his head on my shoulder and I smile into his shirt. "You'll be okay, right?" He asks in a low voice, uncertain. I tighten my arms and nod. He breathes into my hair. My scalp tingles. He lets me go. Kisses my cheek gently. I go scarlet and he snorts. I punch his arm again and he ruffles my hair. I groan and flatten it. He grins, flashing a white smile. I bite my cheek lightly, wanting to say something else, but not having the right words in my mind. Clint looks the same, but it might just be me thinking that. 

"I'll see you in a few days, then." He finally says and I nod, hugging him once again. "I'll Skype you later, yeah?" I nod, smiling. He leaves and I return to my position near the window, unable to fight the smile. It stays. I bite my lip gently, and wonder what it will be like just being on my own. Well, with JARVIS, of course.

***

Skye had really helped with Clint and I. It has been two days since they have been gone, and all I have really done is talk to Clint and Tasha and work. Now, I sit after a relaxing shower. Another Skype call is going to arrive. My heart thuds as I dry my hair, my laptop making a loud ring as I sit. I turn off the hair-dryer, and go over, plopping myself on the bed, clicking answer. Clint grins, looking bored. Maybe a little drunk. He looks so dopey and it's adorable. 

"Hey, Carter." He slurs and I roll my eyes. Yep, he's had a drink. Thank God I stayed in New York. I would've have been too tempted not to stay sober and pissed my doctor off. That isn't a good thing. I hate hospitals and doctors. For what reason, I don't know. I never have liked them. Ever.

"Hey, Barton," I answer sweetly, playing with the damp ends of my hair. "Having fun?" He nods, taking a swig of beer and I hear the bottle be gently placed on a table or floor. His hair is untidy and his eyes are half closed. I grin at him. End the call before he face plants his keyboard. I saw it coming. He probably won't remember even calling me. He probably conked out there. I curl up in a ball, lights dimmed thanks to JARVIS. I close my laptop, and it's not long before I drift off to sleep myself, Clint in my thoughts. 

***

A sound awakens me, and I slide my hand upwards for my gun. It is under pillow. It is pitch black now, and I remember I fell asleep near the end of the bed. My gun isn't on this end. Footsteps. My heart starts to pound and I feel my breathing increase. I let my eyes fly open and I am met with a man. His face is shaded by darkness. I go to dive for my gun, but the familiar sound of a gun cocking stops me dead. I freeze. _Not now..._ I raise my hands. The man gives a breathy laugh. I swallow, nervously, feeling vulnerable. Revealed. 

"Tell me a story," He says, breath warm against my ear. I clench my jaw. I feel sick. This is so creepy. It sends chills up my back. 

"I'm not a person you want to fuck with," I spit at him, unbothered by the angry sound he makes. "The end." I move away from the bed, hands still up. The gun still trained on me. I slide my hand under the desk near me and press a button. JARVIS will now alert the others that there is trouble. They'll know right now. I pressed the button. The signal has been beamed across. Thank God Tony got this installed, or I could be in trouble.

"You S.H.I.E.L.D agents ruin everything." Oh, no. Here we go. I zone out while he talks random shit. His lips move, but I don't hear a word. The gun is inches away from my face, and I hold my hands up, waiting for this fucker to finish his monologue. I mean, damn. I have no idea what it is with all the bad guys having the good guys in a dangerous situation, and then using a speech against them. Then the good guy puts them through hell and wins. It sounds so very cliché. Like in the movies. But, this is real life, and I'm waiting to make my move. He is not going to see it coming. I might rip my stitches, but he tried to kill me in my sleep. Ass. How he got in here, I'll never know. Maybe it is a test. Maybe it isn't. I just know I'm going to kick his ass. I won't kill him, no, but I want to. He woke me up. Nobody wakes me up unless it is an emergency. This is not that. Not at all. JARVIS has alerted the others, and they should be here soon. They were at a party in Malibu, Tony's summer house. They'll be flying home faster than Pietro can run. Seriously. Don't believe me? Oh, wait until they come crashing through the door. That's when the real fun will kick in.

"I don't care." He finishes, trigger finger twitching as he gives me a crazy look. Finally! Before he can even pull the trigger, I bring my leg straight up, hitting him under the jaw. The gun goes off, making my ears ring, and one of the lights in my room goes out with a popping sound. Good; that means it didn't hit me. The man does a full flip, landing on his face. The floor creaks as he lands on it. Hard. He grasps the hilt of something, but I can't see what. It registers as soon as he climbs to his feet, face red, the blade catching the light. Knife. I draw my own, his much larger than mine. Not that it matters. I was trained in the art of knife throwing. And knife combat. I could disable this wanker with my little finger. We circle each other, menacingly, sometimes switching hands with the blade. Are we trying to scare each other? I don't know. I'm just getting into whatever position I can when he moves round. I spin the blade around my hands, using the wall and anything else to show off my skills with a knife. The blade goes this way and that, so fast, so smoothly, the man's eyes can't keep up with where it is. He darts forward, knife aiming for my stomach. Blades clash, making a metallic sound as they do so. He leaves me a space as he tries to swing for my throat. I slash upwards, and I catch his chest. Make a three inch gash. Blood is drawn instantly. He yells out. Arms flying up in the air. He recovers fast, and we clash blades again. He makes a frustrated sound, like a growl, and pauses every now and again to look at me, try and distract me. It doesn't work, so he attacks again. He keeps one hand in the air, the glove making it harder, but I see a weak spot. A piece of skin on his wrist is being revealed, his sleeve riding up. Faster than a cheetah, I slash, cutting his wrist with ease. He cries out, but he does not relent. Dammit... He gestures at me to come at him. I don't react, watching how his posture changes. I see it coming before he even moves. What a mistake. I raise my eyebrows at him, my eyes never shifting from him. I could do this with my eyes closed. Sabre is not my codename for nothing, y'know. I am highly skilled with swords and blades. My strongest is just that. My weakest.... Has to be hand to hand, but I'm still pretty good. He swallows, and I breathe carefully, calmly, barely out of breath. This guy sounds like he has ran seven marathons, his breath wheezes. It might be the pain, also. I nailed him twice. 

"Well?" I ask, shrugging as I spin the blade in my hand. He runs at me with a war cry and I slide to the left, making him overshoot. I use my free hand and shove his shoulder, sending him sprawling. My desk collapses under his weight and the force, making a crack as it does so. Papers go flying, floating down. I sigh. Shit... I'll have to reorganize that. Never mind. It wasn't that important anyway. If it was, I wouldn't have shoved him into it. He rolls across his back, getting to his feet instantly, blade up and ready. This time I attack first, blade screeching as his collides with mine. I am much faster, and he barely manages to fend it off. He then goes for me. I grab his wrist with my free hand, feeling the power behind it, the blade directed to my face. And vice versa. We struggle, my blade near his face his near mine. He can't hold my wrist forever; I could do something else, but I would like to buy as much time as I can. The others probably want him alive. Our grunts of power and struggle are the only sounds in the room. JARVIS is recording everything. Tony will want to review it and see how this prick got in. He is going to get a surprise. He'll see me have a knife fight with him. I shove his knife hand down, forcing it to cross his other wrist, making it harder to hold my blade away from him. He makes sounds of pain, and I tighten my fingers. I make a mistake. He flicks his wrist and his blade cuts straight across my cheek. My head whips to the side a little, but I am on to him almost instantly, face showing no sign of pain. It hurts like holy hell, but I ignore it. Blood tickles my cheek as it rolls down. The man inches his knife near my throat. I use a tactic my father taught me. It isn't safe, but I know it like I know New York. Well, that is. I grab the blade between my teeth, pulling it out of his hand. With a battle cry, muffled from the metal, I stick my hands over his eye and push with all the strength I can muster. He is surprised. He never expected me to do that. I spit the blade out, and I know exactly where it is going. The handle brushes my knee and I bring it up. The shiny weapon hits him the cheek, making him fall backwards, blood zipping from the wound. He staggers. I throw my own blade. It is now not needed. I grab the back of his neck, spin him round and slam his head through my wardrobe door. He goes limp, out cold. His arms swing loosely, as my door flies open, leaving a dent in the wall. They see me with my hands on my knees, barely a scratch on me, sweaty and tired. Tony raises an eyebrow, looking from the two bloody blades and the damage done. I stand up straight, taking in the shocked looks and the smug one on Natasha's face. I dust my hands off and shrug. 

"What?" I ask, as if it is no big deal.


End file.
